


A Christmas Haunting

by Kendrene



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, F/F, First Kiss, Fluff, Happy Ending, Highschool Student!Nicole, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Light Angst, Sort Of, Waverly is the most polite ghost ever, ghost!Waverly, highschool!au, modern!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 18:57:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13129983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kendrene/pseuds/Kendrene
Summary: Waverly knew the girl was trouble as soon as she saw her step out of the U-Haul truck that had just pulled up the driveway.With hair the color of fire and tall enough to border lanky, there was something about her that instantly attracted Waverly. Two more people spilled out of the truck - the girl’s parents Waverly guessed - and she judged the girl herself to be about her own age.(of course she meant her age at the time of death, but details.)ORWaverly has been "haunting" the same house as far as she can remember, and she wishes nothing more than to have some human company. When Nicole moves in with her parents, she feels an instant attraction to the redhead and - despite the fear that making herself known will cause Nicole to flee - Waverly can't help slowly falling for her.(It's not smut, but please read it anyway)





	A Christmas Haunting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LeKeeton95](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeKeeton95/gifts), [Jude81](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jude81/gifts), [TheEvangelion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEvangelion/gifts), [Aspidities](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aspidities/gifts), [TheGaySmurf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGaySmurf/gifts), [RaeDMagdon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaeDMagdon/gifts), [Avrilsky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avrilsky/gifts), [Half](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Half/gifts).



> Happy Holidays! 
> 
> First of all, I'd like to dedicate this fic to everyone that reads my work, takes the time to kudo and comment or reaches out on Tumblr. When I started to write again, now more than a year ago, I didn't think it would bring so many amazing people in my life. I am gifting this work to a few, but really, you are all included.
> 
> Secondly, I left the ending kind of open and I may write more in this universe - if you think you'd like that, please sound off in the comments below.
> 
> As always I treasure all your feedback, and again wish you serene holidays.
> 
> Happy reading.
> 
> \- Dren

Waverly knew the girl was trouble as soon as she saw her step out of the U-Haul truck that had just pulled up the driveway.

With hair the color of fire and tall enough to border lanky, there was something about her that instantly attracted Waverly. Two more people spilled out of the truck - the girl’s parents Waverly guessed - and she judged the girl herself to be about her own age.

( _of course she meant her age at the time of death, but details._ )

Of course the girl couldn’t possibly be trouble for her, since she was dead and out of anyone’s reach really. Rather, Waverly could be trouble for them - except she never meant to be. She ought to know after so much time spent trapped within the house that people didn’t react too well to ghosts, but sometimes loneliness got the best of her and - forgetting she indeed was not Persephone - she tried to span the gap between life and her un-death.

This family was not the first to own the house and it wouldn’t be the last, but Waverly hoped that this time they’d leave because life simply moved them onward, and not because they deemed the place too haunted to live in.

Quite frankly she took offence at the term. She preferred to think of herself as _inhabiting_ the same place of the living by happenstance, but the truth was that the walls surrounding her were a prison she could not leave, no matter how many times she’d tried.

She watched the newcomers unload the U-Haul, the father piling boxes right there on the concrete while mother and daughter slowly moved them inside the house. Waverly knew that if she went downstairs she’d find their entire lives squared away in the foyer, but she was reluctant to leave her usual post at the second story window.

It was one of those early November days Canada got, which already tasted like winter with the air so crisp it seemed carved from glass, and a cold so fierce despite the sun that you’d feel your hands and cheeks go numb and your nose get ready to fall off within minutes of being outside.

The girl would stop now and then on her trips back from inside the house and bring her hands to her mouth, trying to warm her fingers with her breath. It was during one of these little breaks when she suddenly turned, directly staring at the window Waverly hovered by. What she read as a frown creased the redhead’s brow and Waverly pulled back, suddenly afraid that in her desire to look more closely she’d inadvertently manifested.

There was something about the girl that made her chest flutter - something she hadn’t felt since she’d last had a heart beating inside it - and it filled her with both curiosity and fear.

She’d laugh at the notion of a scared ghost if she didn’t find the sound she’d make bitter and tragic, plus she was sure she was not supposed to remember how it felt to laugh or have a heart at all.

Since she was quite literally stuck inside the house, Waverly had filled her days with people watching. Luckily for her the road outside was busy enough to keep her entertained on most days, what with the school right at the end of the street and the small shopping center right beside it. She’d even glimpsed a few ghosts down the years - misty figures that moved like they were sleepwalking or lost. Her gaze never lingered long on them however, for they made her at one time uneasy and certain she had nothing in common with them.

She also had a TV at her disposal since the last owners had fled the place so fast they hadn’t even bothered to take their expensive flat screen off the wall but, even though she could turn it on and off at will, she usually got bored of it rather quickly. Of course it had served her well to learn about the age she found herself in, since when she’d been alive they had horses instead of cars and such, but she preferred what she could have of the company of real people better - in a habit she recognized as something self-torturing and perverse.

It was when they were done with hauling all their boxes inside that Waverly learned the girl’s name. Her mother called her from halfway up the stairs to come see her new room.

_Nicole_.

She mumbled it and as she took shape within the world around her, the window misted over slightly - not with breath as it was something quite impossible for her to achieve - but with a sudden drop in temperature.

It bounced pleasingly off the house’s walls as Nicole’s mother called again, and Waverly got so lost in the sound that she almost failed to notice their approaching footsteps.

_This_ was supposed to be Nicole’s new room, she realized with as much mounting panic as a ghost could feel. She twisted around in frantic search of a place to hide, forgetting that she was all but invisible unless she wanted to be seen.

But her yearning for company had been her undoing and, when she glanced at herself, Waverly’s eyes widened. Not only was she visible, but she looked entirely corporeal too - a feat that usually required her an herculean effort. She wore the same flowing nightgown she always did, immaculate but threadbare at the edges, and nothing else.

The floorboards just outside creaked loudly and the doorknob turned, the lock’s click freezing Waverly on the spot. She willed herself to disappear, but her parlor tricks deserted her, the solid outline of her body refusing to fade even just a little.

Her only way out was through one of the walls, she concluded with a sinking feeling and, just as the door slowly opened, she bolted for it.

She really didn’t fly through the wall like one would see in horror movies. Rather she sank, slow as molasses, an unpleasant feeling of disjointment filling what she perceived as her body. Waverly supposed that being torn apart cell by cell and then hastily put together in another place would be a similar experience and, despite the absurdity of it, she used doors whenever possible.

She halted in the next room, knowing that putting more space between her and the living would be safer, but compelled to stay and eavesdrop just the same.

There was only shuffling at first and then the mother’s voice again.

“Well, do you like it?” It was cheerful enough, if a tad impatient as if she was expecting a better reaction from her daughter than the one she was getting.

“Yeah.” Nicole’s voice was as warm as Waverly had imagined, but she sounded off, her mind lost somewhere other than the room. Or perhaps she was just tired after all that lifting.

“You don’t like it?” Her mother asked, her tone hurt. “Look, Nicole I know this is hard for you, but you know how important a new start is for…”

Waverly never learned who it was that needed a fresh start so badly because Nicole spoke up, cutting her mother short.

“It’s not that.” The redhead’s tone had picked up, and Waverly could almost picture her as she followed the sound of her footsteps around the empty bedroom, Nicole’s eyes surely animating while she took in what was going to be her new home.

“I…” A pause and then, “I just thought I saw something.”

Waverly, who had moved so closed to the wall separating them that her nose almost touched the plaster, pulled back hurriedly, and a familiar sense of heaviness filled her.

Nicole’s following laugh was nervous.

“Must have been a shadow.” The words came slow and faltering, the last echoes of her shrill laugh clinging to the corners of the room like cobwebs. “Y’know, tired from the trip and all that.”

“Of course.” The mother’s voice softened with understanding. “Well, the furniture guys should be here in an hour or so and we’ll get the bedrooms set up first ok? So you can get settled.”

The two of them moved out of the room and down the hallway, and Nicole’s reply was too muffled by all the walls in between for Waverly to catch.

True enough another truck pulled upfront not even an hour later, and the house filled up with people and noise as everything the family would need to furnish the rooms was brought inside and put together.

Waverly retreated to the stuffy safety of the attic, since an accidental appearance would not be the best way to start the cohabitation, but she really didn’t mind doing so. Nor did she begrudge Nicole the loss of her favorite spot at the bedroom window, because she’d trade that for a house full of bustling life any day of the week.

She had people again, and perhaps she was not supposed to remember how to laugh, but sure as heck she felt like she was smiling.

The Great Furniture Assembling - at least that was what Waverly dubbed it in her mind - went on for the rest of the day, but nobody disturbed her in the attic. She passed the time by reading one of the old books previous owners had left behind, even though she knew most of them by heart. She hoped these new people had brought new books for her to sift through, and sighed wistfully as she remembered the one time a university professor had lived inside the house. The man himself had been a stuck up snob with a head three sizes too big for his hat, but his collection of books had been amazing and Waverly had loved him for it, despite the fact her was a misanthrope who delighted in terrorizing his young students.

She’d lifted her favorites from his personal belongings after he’d passed away, and his family had been too busy squabbling over money to care about his books.

The workers went away a little after sunset, and the house grew quiet enough that Waverly felt safe venturing downstairs.

She found the family at dinner, pizza and wings on the kitchen table since clearly none of them had found the time to cook, and observed them from the shadows of the living room for a while, until she started to feel like a creep for intruding in their shared time.

The next few days she used to memorize their patterns of behaviour; who got up first, when they left for work and school, which rooms were safe for her to loiter in depending on the time of day. Previous disasters had taught her a hard lesson - the living and the dead weren’t meant to intersect, no matter how alone it felt to be like her - and she was determined not to screw their coexisting up.

Waverly didn’t think she would survive an empty house again, or rather if she did she wouldn’t be Waverly anymore.

Gliding aimlessly from one bare room to the next had been torture, and every time she’d crossed a threshold she’d felt as if she was leaving a part of her in the room behind. Of course she still remembered what it was that made her Waverly, but as she’d watched Nicole have dinner with her parents on their first night in the house, she’d realized that she could barely recall what her own family looked like, and it filled her with the kind of resentfulness that would make objects fly and windows rattle in their casings if she wasn’t careful.

She was proud of herself for her restraint actually, and for the fact that - despite lingering in Nicole’s vicinity more than it was advisable to do - she had managed not to give herself away. Studying the family had her fall into a routine that mirrored theirs, which in turn made her feel more substantial than she had in quite some time. She could catch her reflection in mirrors on most days now, and her skin looked more rose-tinted that she remembered.

The tenants life, she decided, was rubbing off on her, and Waverly found she didn’t mind.

Nicole attracted more and more, and Waverly ached to establish some form of contact. There was a kind of quiet energy that radiated from the redhead as she concentrated on her homework or the little wooden figures Waverly discovered she could carve that calmed the frothing waters of her spirit. Plus she loved sitting on the redhead’s bed when she was at school, and the room always smelled of pine and resin like the forest Waverly dimly remembered had grown around her house.

But trying to talk to her was dangerous - at best Nicole would think she was imaginary, and at worst she’d alert her parents to the presence of a ghost - so Waverly contented herself with being helpful. Whenever Nicole complained about not finding something it would turn up on her bedside table the next morning, and the same happened (quite mysteriously according to Nicole’s mother’s phone calls) to the rest of the family.

From everything that Waverly could see Nicole was soft spoken and caring, yet she seemed to have no friends to speak of. Waverly had gathered from things that she had seen around the house - receipts stuck to the fridge and rerouted mail - that they had moved in from another town, so maybe it was a matter of not being close with anybody just yet, but something told her there was more to it.

She had taken up the habit of sitting at the window to wait for Nicole to come home from school. It was pathetic dog-like behaviour, she was aware of that, but she couldn’t help that the house around her felt more alive with the other girl inside it.

NIcole always turned up on time. Always alone.

And then there was another thing bothering her. Despite the shared dinners, and the evenings in front of the TV or around a board game, these people laughed too little. Nicole and her mother did when there were just the two of them inside the house, but whenever the father was home they spoke in the same hushed whispers people used to exchange gossip during Sunday mass.

It wasn’t natural and no matter how hard she thought about it, Waverly couldn’t understand.

Up to the day in which she did.

It was night and almost Christmas, winter settled in town as if it was its Mayor. Waverly was lounging in the living room, since the hour was late enough that everyone who could walk up on her was deep asleep. (The more time passed the harder it was to stay invisible, like she was relearning how it was to have a body)

Christmas lights were her favorite part of the holiday, and she delighted in flicking them on and off at will as they wound up around the tree that took up a whole corner of the room. She had watched Nicole and her mother put the tree and decorations up a few days ago and - at the risk of being discovered - saved the star from crashing to the floor in a million pieces when it had slipped off the top of the fir.

Keys rattling at the front door had her tear her eyes away from the spectacle of silver and red she had been so enthralled by and, with a burst of concentration, she hurriedly shut the lights. Cursing followed, and Waverly recognized the voice of Nicole’s father. He stumbled into view before she could leave the room, the stomach-churning reek of alcohol preceding him. He stopped with a gasp and reeled, tethered to a precarious balance before he crashed into the coffee table with a groan.

He was drunk.

He had _seen_ her.

Another face superimposed over his gasping, frightened one. Another man with a weak jaw and hair sprayed with grey despite the fact he wasn’t even in his forties. Gut wrenching pain that she should be unable to feel rooted her to the spot, and all Waverly could do was watch Nicole’s father pick himself up and shuffle back just as the rest of the house was woken by the racket.

“You’re not here.” He grunted, and waved an unsteady hand in front of his eyes. “Go...Must...Go.”

He turned on his heels, swaying like a sapling caught by the wind, and disappeared into the darkened kitchen. Waverly heard rustling, coins cluttering to the floor with a merry jingle that was mocking laughter in her ears, and then the backdoor slamming open.

Nicole’s mother thumped down the stairs and barely paused to take in the mess in the shadowy living room. Her eyes pierced right through Waverly and she slumped, relieved that when Nicole’s dad would come back, he would probably discount seeing her as a byproduct of his state.

But the car’s engine outside was reeving madly, and the tires squealed on the icy driveway before the truck flashed past the living room’s window.

“Your father left.” The kitchen lights flicked on and their glow reached far enough to reveal the smashed coffee table. Shards of glass glittered in the warm light as if the snow had made its way inside somehow, and Waverly thought it weird that at a time like this her mind would find the overall effect so beautiful.

“Will he come back?” Nicole’s tone was resigned, more tired than anything.

“I don’t think so.” A sigh. “He took the groceries’ money.” They both sounded detached, as if they had used up all of their anger a long time ago, and they had nothing left to stoke its fires.

“I am going back to sleep.” Nicole said simply, but what Waverly heard was an _I told you so_ that the daughter didn’t have the heart to inflict upon her mother.

Nicole retraced her steps to head upstairs, and as she walked past the living room she looked right into Waverly’s eyes.

Waverly flinched, and prepared herself for the inevitable scream but nothing came, Nicole simply disappearing up the staircase.

It was for that reason that she felt compelled to follow.

She hovered at Nicole’s closed door for a moment, the muffled sobs that came from behind the wooden panels revealing that the redhead’s apparent indifference was nothing but a show.

Nicole was clearly hurting, and Waverly hung just a few feet away, torn between offering comfort and retreating into the attic. She had been so caught up in the joy having people around brought her that she hadn’t dwelled on the red flags, although there had been many now that she took the time to think them over.

Nicole’s dad was often late, and more than once she’d seen him stash suspicious-looking bags inside his toolbox in the garage when his girls weren’t around. She was positive that, should she go looking, she’d find booze hidden within.

Gradually the sobs tapered off and, emboldened by the silence, Waverly assumed it was safe to go inside the room. She forced herself through the door’s grain, setting aside her hate of traversing the material for Nicole’s benefit, and found the girl curled in the middle of her bed, a pillow held tightly to her chest.

There were Christmas lights here too, a whole string of them hanging over the headboard. They were lit, and their golden light - not unlike that of a scattering of candles - brightened Nicole’s hair with sparks of vivid copper.

The redhead’s breath was steady now, deep with what Waverly assumed was sleep, so she gingerly sat on the edge of the bed, and vowed that she would watch over Nicole at least for that night.

“I knew it!” Nicole twisted on the bed so fast she almost rolled into Waverly, and she jumped back with a small yelp, pressing shaking hands to her chest. It must be the first time in the history of ghosts that a living being was the one doing the scaring.

“I knew I saw _someone_!” Nicole kneeled up on the bed and pointed a finger. “You’re not that scary though.” She let her hand fall, managing to convey all her disappointment in one gesture.

“You are, though.” Waverly pouted, the fluttering in what she thought of as her chest rising to an alarming level.

Speaking to a living for the first time in years, and one that wasn’t fleeing the house in terror at her sight, brought her the memory of tears. She could feel herself growing more substantial by the minute, and tried to hide the torrent of emotions that ran through whatever ethereal substance her cells were made of by willing the lights to click shut.  

“Oh God I am so sorry.” Nicole’s voice softened, punctuated by the rustling of a blanket, before the lights switched on again.

“Please, sit.” Nicole patted an empty spot on the bed, her body language full of the wariness of someone being caught doing something they’re ashamed of. “I am being a terrible host right? Although, I guess you’ve been in this house way longer than me.”

Waverly sat, too surprised by Nicole’s reaction to her presence to do anything but. She wrapped her arms around herself with a shiver - toe rotting cold she had no right to feel making her teeth chatter softly.

“It was you who found my wallet two weeks ago and left it on the nightstand wasn’t it?”

Waverly nodded.

“And the other day when I cut myself, and turned around to find bandaids on my desk… Still you?”

Waverly nodded again.

Nicole smiled, and it was like seeing the sun rise on the first day of spring with the knowledge that winter was finally over.

“I felt like someone cared for me since the day we moved here. We…” She fidgeted with the blanket bunched at her waist, “we moved around a lot, and for the first time I felt like I didn’t hate the place. Like it was home.”

Waverly gazed into the troubled, swirling depths of Nicole’s gold-flecked eyes, and saw an ocean of tears ready to be shed.

“So...uh… You’re not gonna scream? Or, like, call an exorcist?” It was not much in terms of comfort, but her mind still struggled to try and find a similar experience. However she came up empty, for all the people she’d tried to talk to in the past had fled or tried to hurt her.

“Why would I?” Nicole’s eyebrows did a thing. “You’re not the first ghost I see, you know? Just the first I talk to.”

She said it with a tiny shrug as if she was describing the sky’s own color and, just like that, Waverly learned that for Nicole it was normal to see ghosts.

It was also the reason why she didn’t have any friends - Nicole explained on the following nights - because her classmates thought that her spacing out so often meant she was a bit touched, up in the head.

“I am dying to be your friend though.” Waverly stated towards the end of one night, with Nicole tucked underneath the blankets to her chin.

It was Christmas Eve, the house still and quiet under its own duvet of snow. She sat as far away as she could while still remaining on the bed, since they had discovered that - if she got too close - Nicole got very, very cold.

“Did you just.” Nicole snapped and sat up, blankets tumbling to the floor as noiselessly as the snow swirling outside.

Waverly laughed. She really, actually _laughed out_ _loud_ the same way she had done the first time her sister Wynonna had put her on a horse.

She saw her face twitch weirdly in the bedroom’s mirror, her laughter caught mid-air.

Crystallized.

“Waverly?”  

She tried to respond but couldn’t make a sound, the images suddenly crowding around her rendering her speechless.

“Waverly.” Nicole persisted. She shifted on the bed, and leant forward, her voice lowering to the most gentle of whispers.

“Waverly… Do you remember how you died?”

The Christmas lights above the bed went out. They didn’t fizzle like burnt candles; rather they popped one by one with a loud _crack_. Like the revolver going off when...

Waverly stared - the reflection of her face open-mouthed and horror-stricken.

“I...I’m...s-sorry.” She stuttered and stood, edging away from the bed. “I should go. To the attic.”

Where she belonged. But that she didn’t say.

She didn’t wait for a reply and turned to go, only to feel something close around her wrist to hold her back.

“Wow.” Nicole breathed, and the awe layering her voice had Waverly whirl back. She saw the redhead look down and, when her eyes found what was keeping her from moving, they went as wide as they could go.

Nicole was _touching_ her.

“I didn’t know you could do that.” Waverly murmured, her own fingers shakily reaching for the back of Nicole’s hand.

Before the redhead could reply there was pounding at her door, and her mother called out, worried by the noise of broken glass she’d more than definitely heard.

“It was Calamity, mom!” Nicole had the presence of spirit to blame her cat which of course was nowhere in the vicinity.

Nicole’s mother grumbled something under her breath before she moved away and they waited, listening intently for her receding footsteps.

“That was insensitive of me to ask.” Nicole breathed once they were sure they wouldn’t be interrupted, “I feel like an idiot.”

Waverly did too, but it was because of Nicole’s hand still on her arm more than the question. She felt like a smiling, bumbling idiot, and the darkness that had gathered like a storm inside her being at the mention of her death was chased away.

“I didn’t know I would react that way.” Waverly twisted unhappily. “I am so, so sorry for your lights.”

“Nonsense.” Nicole brushed broken light bulbs off the bed and hesitantly stroked her cheek. “I can get new ones.”

Waverly watched her bite her lower lip, and she had to screw her eyes shut against the sudden idea that she wanted to kiss her. It was foolish - just because they had touched didn’t mean she could, and besides she’d never kissed anybody.

She would probably turn out to be a horrible kisser.

“Waves?” Nicole tugged at her hand, and the nickname threatened to melt what little was left of her in this world. “What are you thinking about?”

“That it’s Christmas Eve.” She managed weakly. “You’re supposed to make a wish on Christmas Eve.”

“Oh.” Nicole licked her lips, and Waverly experienced a different sort of death. “And do you have one?”

“One what?” She asked stupidly, eyes glued to Nicole’s lips. She wondered if they would feel as soft and warm as her hand did.

“Wish. Do you have a wish?”

Waverly nodded shakily.

“I think I do too.” Nicole said carefully. She stood, her hand sliding from Waverly’s forearm to grasp her fingers. They entwined naturally, in a way that indicated the two of them had always been meant to hold hands. “Do you trust me?”

Of course Waverly did.

Nicole stood and made for the door, dragging her along. They quietly went downstairs, past the living room with its Christmas tree blinking red, silver and gold. Past the kitchen which would smell of cinnamon rolls the following morning - Waverly had heard Nicole’s mother promise them - to the back door and the silent yard beyond.

“Where are we going?”

“Outside.” Nicole smiled brightly. “I’d like to wish my wish under the snow.”

Waverly wanted to, she really did. Leaving the house behind would be a dream come true, and for the first time since she’d realized she was a ghost she thought she could. But all of a sudden she was scared, that stepping through this threshold would bring about her moving _forward,_ now that she wasn’t really sure she wanted to.

But she hadn’t lied when she’d told Nicole she trusted her, and so she followed.

She stepped out in the backyard and there was no tugging back towards the house, and no release. Just Nicole pulling her into a hug and cradling her face with shivery fingers.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes.”

And for the first time in more than a century, Waverly felt warm.

**Author's Note:**

> [follow me on TUMBLR for more stories and exclusive content](https://kendrene.tumblr.com/)


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